


I give my gun away when it's loaded

by openhearts



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode: s02e01 Audition, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts
Summary: I wrote this right after that episode, left it for a long time, worked on it more, had it beta'd by the lovely dearygirl in part to lure her into shipping Will/Quinn with me, and then left it to languish again. Then (livejournal user) mute_mime commented on my end of year fic meme and mentioned the pairing and . . . here we go. Title from Damien Rice's "9 Crimes."Originally posted at LiveJournal





	

Will tears the two girls apart, stretching an arm out to keep Santana at bay and pulling Quinn back around his body with an arm curled tight around her shoulders. When she still lunges and struggles he wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly, fingers digging into her upper arm over the scrapes already left in her skin by the vents of the lockers. Santana turns on her heel and stalks away when he tells her sternly to go, but Quinn jumps against his arms and shrieks after her. Finally he shoves her through the nearest doorway into a random empty classroom.

“No, no, no,” Quinn’s repeating, her face red with rage and her teeth clenched tight. “Let me go,” she snaps at him, but Will keeps his hold on her arms and shakes her once.

“Quinn stop it. Stop. You have to calm down.”

“No!” she repeats, and then she lunges for the closed door and Will reacts, shoving her back to the wall and holding her there, leaning his weight into her.

Quinn jabs him in the forearm with her elbow and wrenches one arm out of his grasp to slap him squarely across the face. It shocks the breath out of him and he stands there a moment, eyes open wide as he stares down at her, automatically reclaiming his grip on her free arm.

She slaps halfheartedly at his chest and mutters it almost too low for him to hear. “Hit me back.”

“What?” Her skin is overheated beneath his palms. He starts to loosen his hold but she tenses up, jerking her arms and arching her back off the wall so her body presses and twists against his.

“Hit me back,” she grinds out through a clenched jaw. “Just do it, hit me back!” she repeats, ramping up to a scream again.

“No, Quinn, stop it. I’m not going to hit you. I’m not going to hurt you, just stop fighting and calm down.”

She sinks back against the wall and leans her head back. Her eyes lift to the ceiling before they fall back over Will’s face and she opens her mouth around deep ragged breaths. “Do it,” she whispers. “I want it.”

“You want-” Will repeats dumbly, staring down at her lips as if he could catch up to her meaning by watching them move.

Quinn strains up onto her tip toes, struggling against his hold, making his fingers press bruises into her arms. Will can feel her whole body shift and slide upwards between himself and the wall where he has her pinned. When she can reach him she kisses him, eager and messy with her mouth opened over his closed lips.

“Quinn-” he angles his head away so she can’t reach his lips, his eyes closed as if he could make it unhappen after the fact. But his arms still cage Quinn against the wall and her lips smear soft wet kisses over his neck and jaw – where ever she can reach.

“Come on,” she’s whispering, trying on something husky and sensual even as her voice shakes to hold back tears.

Her hands slide down his shoulders over his sides and she pauses long enough at his waist, nails scratching into the smooth leather of his belt, that he doesn’t catch her before she reaches down to palm at the front of his pants.

His hips jerk back of their own accord, and he could almost be thankful that his body is making one sensible decision if the shocked noise that comes out of his throat didn’t have such a note of pleasure laced through it.

Quinn’s following his backward motion, pressing her chest to his and worming a hand down between them again but he catches it this time and holds her hand in his, pressing her thumb into her palm.

“This can’t,” he starts again.

Quinn turns her hand in his and spreads her fingers through his, curling them down to press her fingernails into the back of his hand. She bows her head and shakes it slowly back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut. She sighs, defeated and almost exasperated, the sound rough and weak. The top of her head bumps into his collarbone and she leaves it there, leaning and pressing into him.

He hears a low sob tear itself from her throat. Will slides his palm over the back of Quinn’s neck. He brushes his thumb over her hair, gathered up tightly into her Cheerio’s ponytail. “Quinn, sweetheart, this has to stop, right now.”

She shakes her head again. “No,” she protests, lifting her head and reaching up for him again. “No, I want it. You want me,” she states softly between kisses to his neck. “I need,” she starts to repeat, but she trails off, her words muffled as she reaches the corner of his mouth. She pauses there and reaches up to hold his chin in one hand, her fingers splayed over his jaw. His hands have fallen to the small of her back, and she may be holding him back as much as holding him near with her fingernails scraping lightly against the five-o-clock shadow on his cheek.

He gets lost for a moment, a heady rush falling through his brain as images flash before his eyes, bringing sense memories with them. He remembers the feeling of Quinn huddling in his arms in his apartment as Terri watched. His palms sweating as Rachel circled him around a piano and music swelled. Terri’s pleading voice, her bony fingers sharp around his arm.

She doesn’t say anything more, but she holds his hooded gaze and nods slowly. A miserable, desperate smile glows dark in her eyes. Will leans in, her fingers slipping and shifting over his face until the tip of her index finger is caught between their mouths for a moment when he kisses her.

She moans over his lips, her breath hot. His lips part and capture hers again and her tongue slips into his mouth immediately, the taste fresh with a thin note of sweetness. She’s enthusiastic, shifting her hips against him as he kisses her. He leans into her, flattens her back to the wall and grinds against her and she lets out a gasp so loud he slaps a hand over her mouth, hunching his shoulders as if he could dive with her into the solid wall and disappear. He inclines his head and his temple brushes hers. The hallway beyond the closed door is still full for the passing period.

Will’s exhale flushes down her neck, and then her hands close over his shoulders she braces her back against the wall so she can lift and wriggle herself up to wrap her legs around his waist. He holds her up. He can’t make himself drop her, even if it means his skin stings against the softness of hers when his hands slide up and backs of her thighs until his fingertips run into the edge of her panties.

He can almost feel her nodding as she kisses him, encouraging him as his hands clench at her greedily.

There’s too much happening at once, Quinn’s soft weight clinging to him, her mouth warm on his, her breath rushing loud in his ear in concert with his own pulse. He presses his hips forward again and she trembles and shifts as much as she can to reciprocate the movement. He’s not sure what he’s testing, what he’s trying to determine, or if it’s just a blind reach for validation that he’s not doing all this against her will.

The bell rings in the hallway, signaling the end of the passing period and they both freeze. Quinn’s legs clench tighter around Will’s hips and she wraps her arms more securely around his neck and drops her forehead to his shoulder.

Will catches his breath and stares toward the ceiling. The fabric of Quinn’s uniform shifts in his hand. He feels her body deflate around the long thin sigh she lets out as her legs slide back down to plant her feet on the ground.

They stand still a moment, and he holds her limp form tight against his chest and lets reality seep back into his brain bit by bit.

“I have to go,” Quinn whispers, but she stays still for a split second longer. “I have to go,” she repeats as she pulls away.

He can’t help but trail his hands down her arms, for some reason trying to keep her close. Standing alone and apart she just looks fragile and impermanent, like she’ll break apart and float away at any moment. She lifts her fingers at the last second to hook against the tips of his and lingers though she’s turned away from him toward the door.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, his voice rough.

“I know,” she answers softly. She lets go of his fingers and turns her back to him fully and he watches as she smoothes down her skirt. She reaches up with both hands and re-tightens her ponytail with a quietly vicious precision.

When she opens the door and slips out he’s left with the space between him and wall.


End file.
